


perchance to dream

by braezenkitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Coda, Dean Prays, Dreamwalking, Episode: s12e08 LOTUS, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braezenkitty/pseuds/braezenkitty
Summary: Coda for 12x08: When Dean is locked up, Cas' days are spent searching for him or drinking all the alcohol he can get his hands on to try and dull the sound of Dean's screams in his head. Cas doesn't think Dean even realizes he's praying for Cas to save him. When Cas decides to see if he still has the power to dreamwalk and speak to Dean that way, he expects Dean to be surprised by his sudden appearance. But Dean's happy to see him, almost as if his presence in Dean's dreams is a normal, welcomed occurrence. Cas can't bring himself put a damper on Dean's happiness, and he selfishly continues to visit Dean and let him think he's just another part of the dreams. He should have known Dean would figure it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, I finished a thing! I've been struggling with writer's block lately, and so focused on big bangs when I am writing, that I just wanted to get something done quick and get it out there. This is essentially gratuitous fluff with a side of angst (because it wouldn't be a destiel story without it) and all about Cas visiting Dean's dreams while Dean's locked up in the super secret invisible evil government lair, because you know the writers are gonna find some reason why Cas can't do that anymore and not give this to us in an episode. So I wrote it for us ;)

Cas paced the length of the bunker’s library—a habit he’d picked up from Dean—and clutched his head, pressing his arms against his ears. It did nothing to block out the sounds of Dean’s screams and whimpered prayers. Not that he expected it to. It was just another human mannerism he’d picked up somewhere along the long road of his descent from Heaven.

Dean didn’t scream all the time, or even every day, but every time he did it became more painful for Cas to endure. Like someone was digging the sharp tip of a knife into a day old wound that was still oozing, red, and angry. What hurt even more was that Cas couldn’t do a damn thing to answer Dean or to help him. Dean was in pain and begging Cas to make it stop—though he never mentioned Cas by name and didn’t even seem to realize he was praying—but Cas could only listen; a helpless, silent witness to Dean’s torture.

Dean was no stranger to pain or torture. Cas had no doubt he showed a stoic, defiant mask to whatever dead man (because Cas _would_ smite them when he found them) was inflicting this pain upon him. But Dean had gradually lost control of his thoughts and had begun to express the pain mentally while begging for salvation. Salvation Cas wanted so badly to give him, but could not.

Cas hadn’t even considered shutting the prayers out, though he was capable of blocking them. He couldn’t allow himself to cut Dean off. No matter how much pain it caused Cas, he would listen to every word Dean prayed, every emotion and every bit of hopeless longing he projected, every expression of pain that Dean sent in his direction. Cas deserved the pain. He was the reason Dean was in this situation, and if he couldn’t save Dean, he would suffer with him.

After a while the screaming gave way to sobs, then whimpers, and finally faded away completely. The undercurrent of longing remained, but otherwise, Cas’ head was blissfully quiet. He collapsed into a chair and fell forward to cradle his head in his hands.

Nothing made a sound in the empty bunker except for the constant, dull buzz of the ventilation system, and Cas hated the silence almost more than he hated the sound of Dean’s screams in his head. He stood and stalked over to the small bar Dean kept stocked with glittering bottles of amber and clear liquids. He grabbed the first one his fingers came into contact with and uncapped it. It was only half full, so he stood at the bar and chugged until it was empty. When the last drop of alcohol dripped from the bottle and burned a path down his throat, he set it down and picked up two more.

Cas sipped from one of the bottles, dangling the other from his fingers as he walked over to an armchair and sank into the soft leather. It was more comfort than he deserved though, and he stood again almost as soon as he sat. He slipped to the floor, slumping against a bookshelf. Book spines dug into his back, and he pressed into their dull corners. Maybe if they were sharper they’d be able to distract him from the anguish swirling around inside of him.

Lifting a bottle to his lips, Cas gulped down the burning liquid and tried not to choke as it seared his insides. It still wasn’t enough to burn away the knot of helplessness in his chest.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice sounded in his head and Cas flinched. It was the first time he’d prayed to Cas by name. “I don’t know if you can hear me, if you’ve uh, been hearing me. We never really got a chance to check in after... well, after any of the shit you’ve been through since getting your mojo back. Maybe you can’t even hear prayers any more.”

“I hear you, Dean,” Cas said, his voice cracking from disuse and shattering the bunker's silence.

“I don’t even know how you’re doing with everything. I never even bothered to ask.”

Cas closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the bookshelf. He’d never bothered to ask Dean how he was doing with everything either. Dean had tried reaching out to him for help with his mom, and Cas had brushed him off, too impatient and focused on fixing his mistakes to give Dean the time and attention and care he deserved.

“I just pushed you aside ‘cause I didn’t want to deal with you... I’m such an asshole. You deserved better, man.”

“No,” Cas whispered, “don’t say that.”

“And now I’m sitting here in this stupid concrete box and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see you again.”

Cas wanted to say he would find Dean, that they would see each other again, but the words stuck in his throat.

“I have no idea what’s happening to Sammy, or where mom’s at, where the hell I am for that matter... I don’t even know if I’m going to live through another day here.” Dean hesitated and fell silent for a few moments and Cas wondered if that was all he had to say. “But all I can think about is you,” he continued. “I just want to be back home... with you.”

Dean fell silent for good then, leaving Cas alone with the bottle in his hand and the empty bunker. He swallowed another mouthful of liquor and hoped Dean had fallen asleep. He hoped Dean could escape into pleasant dreams for a little while.

Cas was halfway through the third bottle of liquor and finally starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges when an idea came to him. He’d been able to visit Dean in his dreams before, and he hadn’t needed wings to do it. His grace, though damaged, should be sufficient to allow him to do it again. He pushed up from the floor, only slightly swaying on his feet once he was upright, and shuffled down the hallway towards Dean’s room. He didn’t need to be lying down to project his consciousness into Dean’s dream, but it felt appropriate. Or maybe it was just what he wanted. Dean’s pillow still smelled lightly of the strawberry scented shampoo he used, and Cas laid on his side and buried his nose in it.

 

* * *

 

Cas manifested in the front seat of the Impala. Dean was driving down an endless road towards the orange blush of an imagined sunset on the horizon.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, pulling Cas’ attention away from the road.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, frowning at Dean’s lack of surprise to see him appear in his dream.

“Missed you,” Dean said, glancing at Cas with the hint of a smile.

“I—missed you too.” Cas watched Dean, so distracted by the pink flush creeping across Dean’s cheek that he didn’t notice Dean’s hand moving until their fingers were tangled together. His gaze snapped down to his lap where his and Dean’s hands rested on his thigh. A flood of heat bloomed in his chest and spread up his neck to wash over his cheeks when Dean lifted Cas’ hand to press it to his lips.

“Dean?” he gasped.

“Yeah?” Dean said, lowering their hands to rest on his thigh. Cas gaped, unable to verbalize his confusion. “You okay, Cas?”

“Uh, I—” Cas stuttered, hesitating as his mind came up with a million questions. Dean didn’t realize Cas was real, or at least as real as a projected representation of his consciousness could be. Cas’ sudden appearance had seemed normal, even welcomed. How often did Dean’s dreams include him? Why was Dean holding his hand like a lover would? Why had he kissed Cas’ hand?

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, turning to watch Cas with a furrowed brow. He gently squeezed Cas’ hand.

Cas looked into Dean’s eyes and opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He glanced back down at their hands, fingers still tangled together, and for the first time in months, he smiled.

“Nothing,” he answered, squeezing Dean’s hand and blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Dean the truth.

 

* * *

 

The next night, Cas tried again. There hadn’t been any prayers from Dean, and thankfully no screams. Cas was determined to tell Dean he was real and not a figment of Dean’s dream. He manifested in the doorway to the bunker’s kitchen. Dean’s back was turned as he worked at something in front of him on the counter.

“Dean,” Cas started, taking a step closer.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, turning to smile at Cas over his shoulder. “Come here.”

Cas frowned but came closer. He stopped next to Dean at the counter and saw that he was kneading a ball of dough.

“Grab some of that flour,” Dean said, nodding in the direction of the bag on the counter, “and sprinkle it on the counter here.”

Dean lifted the dough and Cas did as he directed. Dean plopped the dough down and began to flatten it with his hands.

“Okay, grab the rolling pin.”

Cas picked up the rolling pin, a heavy wooden thing he imagined would make a useful bludgeoning tool in a pinch, and held it out to Dean.

“Nope,” Dean said, stepping back and wiping his hands on his apron, “you’re up. Time you learned how to do this.”

Cas tilted his head and frowned at Dean. “Why do I need to learn how to do whatever this is?”

“Knowing how to make pie from scratch is an important life skill, Cas, and you know what they say—path to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” he said, winking at Cas. A herd of butterflies took flight in Cas’ stomach and he froze, gripping the rolling pin so tight he probably would have broken it if this hadn’t been a dream.

Dean frowned. “Hey, you alright? Did I break you?”

“I’m fine,” Cas said, forcing the words out through the lump of fear and hope that had bloomed in his chest.

“Okay,” Dean said, dragging the word out as he raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Come on then, just use the rolling pin to push the dough out into a circle.”

Cas frowned at the dough, then at the rolling pin in his hands, then at Dean. “Dean, I—”

Dave gave an exasperated sigh and roll of his eyes. He stepped forward, grabbing Cas’ shoulders with flour dusted hands and pushed him to stand in front of the dough. The words that hung off Cas’ tongue—that this was a dream, that he was the real Cas—died on his suddenly dry tongue as Dean slid his hands down to cover Cas’ where they gripped the rolling pin. He rested his chin on Cas’ shoulder and the length of his body pressed up against Cas’ back, driving all coherent thought from Cas’ mind.

They worked together to flatten the dough, Dean murmuring directions and encouragement against Cas’ ear as he guided Cas’ hands. Cas relaxed into Dean’s hold and let go of everything but the feel of Dean’s breath on his neck and they way Dean’s body enveloped his.

 

* * *

 

The screams resumed the next day. Cas called Crowley and interrogated him on his progress in locating Dean and Sam. He struggled to focus on Crowley’s snarky answers with Dean’s voice begging for help in his mind. When he realized Crowley had no new information, he ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket before the urge to throw it across the room became too strong to resist.

Weeks passed, and not a day went by that Cas didn’t visit Dean in his dreams. They’d driven countless miles in the Impala, holding hands across the leather seat. They’d made pies and cooked meals together, Dean frequently wrapping his arms and hands around Cas to guide him while stirring sauces or chopping produce. Cas had been too cowardly, too selfish to tell Dean the truth. Instead, he continued to invade Dean’s dreams and violate his privacy because he couldn’t bear to give up this one comfort. Which was exactly why he had to.

It was wrong for Cas to enjoy any comfort while Dean was locked in a cell somewhere being tortured. It was especially wrong to take comfort from Dean, and even more so without Dean’s consent. Would Dean’s dreams even include Cas if he wasn’t there to influence them? Cas couldn’t be sure, but he knew the real Dean wouldn’t want to engage in the kind of casual physical affection they engaged in while he was dreaming, whether Dean initiated it in the dreams or not. He was probably just unconsciously reaching out for whatever positive contact he could get to counteract all the negative he was enduring while awake. Cas needed to stop taking advantage of his vulnerability—if he couldn’t be honest with Dean, he had to stop invading his dreams.

Cas spent much of the following three days and nights in a drunken stupor. He’d long since finished off the supply in the bar and had moved on to the stash of dusty bottles in the basement. The Men of Letters had obviously wanted to be prepared if they ever had to hole up in the bunker for any extended length of time.

On the fourth day, Cas awoke to the sound of Dean’s screams in his mind, making his head pound even more than the hangover. He didn’t bother healing himself. He just rolled over to curl around Dean’s pillow and buried his nose in it, though it no longer smelled like him. Cas squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the tears that threatened to pour from them.

When Dean’s screams finally faded, he made some phone calls. Crowley still had no news and none of the angels who would still speak to him had any useful information. Not even Mick had found anything with all of the resources at the disposal of the British Men of Letters. Dean and Sam seemed to have completely disappeared off the face of the earth. If it wasn’t for Dean’s voice in his head, he would worry that they’d been killed.

That night, he gave in and visited Dean again. He manifested in a concrete room with no windows. Dean was slumped over in a chair placed in the middle of the room, weakly struggling against the restraints holding him there.

“Dean,” Cas gasped, running to him and untying his limbs. When his arms were free, Dean fell forward, grasping at Cas’ lapels and burying his face against Cas’ shoulder. Cas held him as he sobbed.

“Cas,” Dean choked out, “where the hell were you?”

Cas opened his mouth to answer, ready to explain, but Dean interrupted him.

“Don’t leave me like that,” Dean said, pulling back to hold Cas’ face and glare at him, his green eyes rimmed in red. “Don’t you ever leave me like that again, okay?”

Cas stared, stunned into silence.

“I need you, you asshole,” Dean growled, pulling Cas back into a hug. “You’re all I got right now. The only thing getting me through my days here is seeing you at the end of them.”

Cas frowned even as he moved to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist and hug him back. “I—I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered into Dean’s hair, holding him close. “I’m so sorry. I wish I knew where they’re holding you so I could get you out of there.”

“Me too, Cas.” Dean let loose a shuddering breath and Cas froze. “I just want to be home, with you, doing all the things we’ve been doing in my dreams.”

Cas pulled back, tilting his head and frowning at Dean. “You knew.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dean answered anyway. “Yeah,” he said with a subdued, melancholy smile.

“Why didn’t—” Cas started, then pulled away and stood. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I—I’ve been taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state—”

“Cas,” Dean said, rising from the chair, “stop.”

“—I violated your privacy—”

“Cas,” Dean repeated firmly, grounding Cas with a hand on his bicep and fingers under his chin. At the gentle insistence of Dean’s fingers, Cas looked up and sucked in a breath at the warmth in Dean’s gaze. A spark of hope blazed up out of the confusion and apprehension swirling in his gut.

“Stop apologizing,” Dean said, his voice gone soft. A corner of his mouth quirked up into the hint of a smile.

“You’re not... upset?”

Dean shook his head and his smile grew. “The only thing I’m upset about is the fact that you stopped showing up a few days ago.”

“But—how did you know?”

Dean laughed, grinning fully now. “Because the version of you I normally see in my dreams doesn’t have nearly the restraint that you do.”

Cas’ eyes widened as Dean blushed and dropped his gaze.

“I don’t—” Cas stuttered, his jumbled thoughts tying his tongue in knots, “do you—is that what you want?”

Dean cleared his throat and grinned, looking up at Cas through his lashes. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, grabbing Cas’ hand.

In the blink of an eye the concrete walls disappeared, replaced by an endless sunrise blanketing a sleepy lake. The dock under their feet was familiar, and Cas turned to see not the one fold up chair he expected, but two. A couple of fishing poles leaned across an open tackle box.

“Ever gone fishing?”

“No,” Cas said, turning back to Dean, “I never had occasion to.”

“Come on, then,” Dean said, tugging Cas’ hand and pulling him towards the end of the dock. “I’ll teach you.”

They sat and Cas squinted at Dean as he baited the hooks.

“You know what the most important thing to have is for a successful day of fishing?” Dean asked, handing a pole to Cas.

“No,” Cas said, squinting up and down the length of it as he took it from Dean.

“Patience,” Dean said, casting his line out into the lake. “You bait your hook and cast your line, and then you wait. Sometimes you get lucky and the fish bites right away, but it usually takes time. Eventually the fish will get hungry enough or curious enough and decide to take a nibble, and that’s when you set the hook and reel it in.”

“So,” Cas said, looking up from his investigation of the reel mechanism on his pole to find Dean watching him intently, “patience is a virtue.”

“Exactly.” Dean grinned at him before turning back to the lake. “Move too soon, and you’ll scare the fish off. The key is waiting for the right moment.”

They fell silent. Cas’ brow furrowed as he gazed out across the lake and the sky in its perpetual sunrise. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, turning his frown on Dean.

“Sure I did, Cas,” Dean said, meeting Cas’ frown with a grin.

“I don’t—” Cas blinked, and when he opened his eyes Dean’s smiling face was gone, along with the sunrise, the lake, and the dock. He was in Dean’s bed where he’d laid down before entering Dean’s dream. Dean must have awoken.

 

* * *

 

"They've only been gone—"

“Six weeks, two days, and ten hours,” Cas said, staring at the bottles lined up behind the bar without seeing them. Next to him, Mary turned away, shifting her gaze to the beer she clutched in her hands.

“We have to find them,” Mary said, turning back to Cas. “We _will_ find them.” She placed a hand on Cas’ arm, drawing his attention away from the bottles. There was a determined gleam in her eyes that reminded him so much of Dean that it made the breath catch in his throat. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

* * *

 

In the early hours of the morning, before the sun gave off even a hint of its imminent arrival on the horizon, Cas opened the door to the Impala and slipped behind the wheel. Mary had gone to bed a couple hours earlier after spending the evening calling all her contacts that might be able to help them. Cas had spent the subsequent hours scouring the library for some kind of locating spell, even though he’d been looking for weeks and hadn’t found anything yet. He ran his fingers lovingly along the steering wheel, then closed his eyes and sought out Dean’s mind.

This time he materialized next to the Impala. It was parked in a field, surrounded by open space and a night sky full of stars. Dean sat wrapped in a blanket on the hood, leaned back against the windshield.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at Cas, “perfect timing.”

“For what?” Cas said, taking a step closer.

“For the meteor shower,” Dean said as he scooted over. He patted the newly made empty space next to him on hood of the Impala. “Get up here.”

Cas climbed up to sit next to Dean, and Dean wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and pulled him close. Cas relaxed against him, leaning his head back against Dean’s arm, and looked up at the sky. Bright streaks of light began shooting across, lighting up the darkness for an instant before fading away.

“You ever stopped to watch a meteor shower before?”

“I have, though not from this vantage point,” Cas said, turning to watch Dean.

“Oh, right," Dean said, smirking, "you had that whole ‘wavelength of celestial intent’ thing going on. So what’s a meteor shower look like from up there Mr. Spaceman?”

As Cas considered the question his eyes roamed over the constellations of freckles splayed across Dean’s cheek. Dean raised an eyebrow and turned to look at him, waiting for an answer.

“Not nearly as beautiful as it looks from here,” Cas said.

Dean’s eyebrows raised even higher, and a laugh bubbled out of him. He pressed a smiling kiss to Cas’ forehead. “That was a pretty cheesy line, but I’ll let it slide,” he said, turning back to the sky and leaning his head against Cas’. He squeezed Cas against him and ran his fingers along Cas’ arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Cas sighed. “I’m not. I should be out looking for you and Sam in the real world.”

“Hey, stop,” Dean said, pulling back to look at Cas. “I know you’re doing everything you can to find us. But in the meantime, you meeting me here every night is keeping me going. And besides, you gotta rest sometimes—”

“I’m an angel, Dean, I don’t need rest.”

“Bullshit, Cas, you’re not a fucking machine,” Dean said, green eyes boring into Cas. “You need a break now and then, just like everyone else. I’m sorry I couldn’t stow my crap for half a minute to tell you that in person, make sure you were taking care of yourself—”

“Dean, you have nothing to apologize for. I—”

“Cas,” Dean said softly, placing a hand on Cas’ cheek to turn Cas towards him, "shut up." His thumb stroked along Cas’ cheekbone, drawing a shudder out of him. The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up into a quiet smirk. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Cas sucked in a breath, his mouth falling open and eyes widening. “Uh,” he started, but couldn’t find the words to continue.

“Now this is the part where dream you would tackle me and pin me to the car,” Dean said, his smirk growing larger.

“Uh,” Cas said again.

Dean let loose a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. “Am I going to have to do all the w—”

Cas cut him off, crashing against Dean and gripping the back of his head to pull him closer. Dean’s lips were soft and plump, and he laughed against Cas’ mouth. His laughter turned into a gasp when Cas parted his lips with a swipe of tongue and pressed him back against the windshield to deepen the kiss. Dean moaned underneath him, and the sound set off something primal and hungry in Cas’ core. He wanted to devour Dean, to ravish him and pull even more noises of pleasure out of him. He wanted the real Dean underneath him; _needed_ him with every fiber of his being. Cas growled against Dean’s lips and pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “I _will_ find you, Dean. And once I do, I’ll cut down anyone in my path to get to you.”

“I know,” Dean said, breathless and flushed, green eyes intense. He leaned up and pressed his lips briefly against Cas’ then pulled back with a cocky grin. “It’ll be just like the first time we met, but with concrete and douchebags with guns instead of flames and demons.”

Cas’ grace flared up inside him, spilling blue light over Dean’s face for an instant. He grinned at the widening of Dean’s eyes and his soft intake of breath. “I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this story? Want more destiel stories? Want to trade dreamwalking headcanons? Leave me a comment, or come say hi on [tumblr](http://braezenkitty.tumblr.com)!


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